Moscow
by Illya Kuryakin
Summary: Life is to live in the present and not the past. The present and future is what matters. Losing a child is always hard, but to Gibbs and Stephanie, it was the end of something. GibbsXStephanie


**Bunny that bit me on the arse and demanded to be written. I wondered how Stephanie would react to Gibbs after she miscarried, but it kinda changed and I went into Gibbs' mind. I kinda liked how it turned out.**

**For RavensIvy, because if I said go read her story Something Behind The Curtains, not only will she update faster but she will write faster and surpass the 50 chapter mark (she's just posted chap 15). Just tellin' ya. **

**If I owned NCIS, well I wouldn't be here and really do I look like a guy?  
**

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Jethro Gibbs walked to his small home that he shared with his fourth wife in Moscow. Married just for a year, things were ok, but he had a suspicion that she knew of the relationship he had shared with Jenny, the director of NCIS. It was more than platonic, Paris was a testament to that, but things had cooled off. Jethro knew he had some sort of love for Steph, but it was not like the deep love he had felt for Shannon. None of the wives after Shannon had ever held his heart like Shannon. He seemed to feel a bit more closer to Stephanie when she declared that she was with pregnant with his child.

It was too early to tell if was a boy or girl, but he knew it was a boy. But he wouldn't care, losing Kelly had been devastating.

But such matters were best not thought about. Life is to live in the present and not the past. The present and future is what matters.

Moscow was not as dangerous as it had been during the Soviet era, but safety was still important. All doors were locked as were windows, there was no need to open them. The cold would just drive people to shut them again. Despite being there for a while, the cold was one thing Jethro could not get used to. Woolen coats had been a must buy when they arrived in Moscow.

He missed the warmth of the D.C sun. He missed his boat.

He slid the key into the lock before issuing the detailed knock password on the door. The password had been created just so they both knew who was at the door, and whether showing off the impressive collection of firearms was worth it. Really, getting mugged by the youths of Moscow was not one of the things travel agents printouts warn about. It's all brilliant scenery this and brilliant hotels that.

He didn't hear a reply, cautiously he retrieved his Sig from it's holster. Pushing the door open with his foot, he slowly made his way into the cramped hallway. The house was deathly quiet. He began to worry. Scanning the hallway he opened the door to their bedroom. It was the same as when he had left that morning. Carefully he walked over the en suite. The light was on when he opened the door, but no one was in there. There were three more rooms, he had not checked, but every room no one was in, made him fret.

The laundry was next. It was unlikely anyone was going to be in there, but Jethro knew not to count it out. The Marines taught you how to survive, and to a lesser extent how to live. Every day in America was not like every day in Russia. Russia was more feral, more, how would he say it, more wild than America. Russia had it's own ways of humanity. They had survived Stalin, and the powerful temptation that was Communism. But they were far off from being America.

He was right. There in the washing machine... were bloody towels. There was still no sounds of life in the small apartment. Stephanie was not there... but the bloody towels?

Turning on his heel, he pushed the door open and snuck into the kitchen. Someone had been there, whether it was Steph or someone else, he did not know. Someone had made coffee. He felt the milk bottle – still cold. The kettle was still warm. There was only one cup out, that made him fell slightly better. But he still felt that cold stench of foul play leeching through his bones.

_Gripping him. Consuming him. The smell of death..._

Fearing the last room in the small apartment held something he did not really want to view, he walked into the living room.

"Steph?" She was pale, more pale than he had ever seen her before. "What happened?"

He placed the gun down on the worn sofa and sat down next to his wife. Putting his arms around her, Stephanie flinched but relaxed as he ran his fingers up over her arms.

"I lost the baby. I lost our baby. Oh God. I lost the baby."

"It's going to be ok."

"Is it Jethro? Is it really? Is everything really going to be ok?"


End file.
